


All that Glitters is Gold

by Blackbird0



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Comedy, Gen, Humour, Reincarnation, Sarcasm, snarky oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird0/pseuds/Blackbird0
Summary: From muggle programmer to magical assassin, I can't say it was a career change I was expecting. Still, life as a wizard is loads better than slaving away as a corporate drone, so I suppose I really shouldn't complain that it comes with a psychotic mother, prodigiously murderous father, homicidal relatives and obsessive international bounty hunters. Ok, so I'm totally complaining....Or the long and hazardous process in which I became a wizard, a criminal, an assassin and the Most Wanted Man in Europe.I only wish I had done it on purpose.





	1. Definitely not in Kansas Anymore

My first thought upon waking with a searing migraine and an aching body was:

_Where’s my wand?_

My second was:

_Wand? What the fuck?_

I groaned in agony, clenching my eyelids tightly shut as the light seared my eyes through them.

Merlin’s beard, I ached all over.

… Merlin’s beard??

I wrenched my eyes open when the pain had faded several long minutes later, taking in the blurry scenery that sharpened into a forest after I blinked the tears away.

Curled up pitifully, I craned my neck around, the birdsong and crisp air an indication of the early morning, as well as the chill and weak sunlight. The bare trees, lightly coated with dew glistened and I just stayed there for a moment, breathing deeply as the pain faded further away.

How did I get here?

I was sure I had turned in for an early night; I had been working late with my fellow co-workers trying to make our deadline, and I had been wrung out after a whole day of staring at the monitor and coding. I remembered taking the bus – there was a group of giggling young women in the back, and I had been annoyed that they just wouldn’t shut up. My earbuds had been shoved in and I’d finally gotten peace and quiet after they got off in Berlin’s city centre. The rest of the ride was uneventful, and I remember walking home after alighting. Then...

I let loose a shocked gasp and shot upright, my muscles instantly protesting and the pain in my head spiking once again. My hand clutched at it and I swore loudly.

Shit! Fucking hell!

I remembered now; I had been walking beside the old crumbling wall next to the Webers’ house when I heard scrabbling. I’d turned and saw a fat white cat scrambling on the red bricks, there had been ominous groaning sounds, and then –

Oh my god!

I had been killed by a brick! No, that fat cat had been the one to disturb them, fuck, I had been killed by a fat cat! I’d never live this down!

Live? I’m dead.

I clutched at my head again and focused on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Okay. Okay.

I’m obviously not dead right now, or I’ve woken up in the afterlife. I just need to figure out what’s going on.

I finally got to my feet, stumbling a little bit as I did so. I caught myself on a nearby tree, throwing my hand out to stop my fall, which sent me into further hysterics. _Because this wasn’t my hand!!_

This wasn’t my body, holy shit, holy shit.

One panic attack later, I had discovered I was now a young teenager, though what age exactly I couldn’t pin down. I was dressed nicely, very nicely, it was obvious that whoever had chosen my clothes was rich. My trousers were tailored, my shoes buffed to a shine and my shirt would have been very smart had it not been soaked in old sweat and dirt.

I stood straight and ran a shaky hand through my hair when a stick caught my eye. A huge burst of relief swept through me and without thinking, I instantly leapt forward and snatched it up off the ground, a foreign warmth sweeping through my entire body and settling my nerves immediately. I relaxed as I cradled the … stick closely and my arm moved automatically over my shirt, thinking of how nice it would be to be clean.

When the dirt and sweat was siphoned off, leaving only pristine white, I knew I was in some deep shit.

* * *

I had been walking for days, tromping through the forest and being extremely grateful that I was now – inexplicably – a wizard. I’m sure that I would have been infinitely more miserable if I couldn’t clean myself, keep myself warm, dry and hydrated. I remembered some spells from Harry Potter, and what I couldn’t, my body seemed to preform automatically – like the warming charm – when I wanted it and focused enough.

It was an incredibly strange sensation to cast a spell; to have my body go through the wand motions, my mouth say the word and boom – magic. I didn’t feel special, honestly, I felt the exact same as I did before. There was no tingling, no warmth, no _anything_ that indicated I was casting magic like there had been when I first picked up my wand. The effect just _happened_. Like - hah - magic. 

It was pretty damn amazing. I spent hours that first day casting every spell I could think of, and ones I couldn’t but that I seemed to know anyway.

It was like all of my childhood dreams coming true when I managed to float a rock around the clearing with a _wingardium leviosa._ I cast stunners on trees, transfigured a branch into a goblet, failed epically at producing a patronus and charmed the moss to glow neon orange.

It was only after I had cast literally dozens of spells that I remembered about the underage restrictions. Because even if this body was small for his age, there’s no way the kid was seventeen. I’d put a rough estimate at thirteen to fifteen years old - I was never good at pinning down other people’s ages.

Still, I hadn’t received an owl informing me I was under arrest or expelled, which honestly could have been useful as it could at least tell me the name of this body.

The overall confusion and misery of these past few days was only lightened up by the magic that I could now preform. My situation could be summed thusly:

Name: Unknown

Location: Completely lost in the ass-end of nowhere

Status: Stuck in the body of a teenage wizard, absolutely starving, and more than a little sick of these trees. Currently contemplating if I was desperate enough to summon and cook a rabbit – if this blasted forest even had rabbits.

Plan of action: Find civilisation and eat an enormous, greasy burger.

The thought of unhealthy fast food revitalised me, and I stood up from where I was resting and continued on my way with a transfigured cup in hand.

I placed my wand into the cup and focused on willing water to appear.

“Aguamenti.”

A thrill shot through me as a small stream of water emerged from my wand, filling up the cup and I grinned as I chugged it down, trying to take the edge off my hunger. 

“Zeige mir nächste Stadt.”

The point me charm notified me that I was heading the right way, and I hoped once again that the nearest city wasn’t too far off. I tossed my cup to the side, ‘finite’d it back into a stone and once again started walking.

For some reason, the only spells I could perform non-verbally was ‘scourgify’ – the cleaning charm – and the summoning and banishing spells. As I walked, I summoned and banished objects all around me, getting more and more used to _willing_ things to happen and them actually doing what I wanted. It was pretty obvious that these two spells had been drilled into me rigorously, and I was soon having what appeared to be an intense mid-air tug-of-war with multiple objects as I summoned and banished them to and away from me.

My magical explorations were halted as I heard voices. People! Humans – hopefully with food!

I was desperate for human company and answers, but I wasn’t nearly that desperate as to approach them without caution. Clutching my wand tightly, I crept forward as quietly as I could after a moment of directing it at my feet and failing to think up a spell to silence them. The ‘silencio’ spell that I tried did nothing since I only remembered the word and this body didn’t know how to cast it, and I didn’t want to keep trying in case I accidently silenced myself and couldn’t lift it.

I stopped a good distance off, seeing a large blue tent and what looked like a family of five gathered around it. The woman – presumably the mother of the three children – was sorting through a bag, while the father and the two youngest were a bit further away in the opposite direction of myself, collecting wood. The eldest daughter looked to be a bit older than my new age, and she was fiddling with a lighter in front of a campfire pit.

After a moment of contemplation, I stuck my wand up my left sleeve, desperately hoping I wouldn’t accidently blow my arm off. These people looked normal, I’m pretty sure that they weren’t wizards, and I desperately needed to know where I was. 

I walked towards the girl, her wavy dirty blonde hair the only feature I could see since she was crouching down.

“Entschuldigung, ich scheine verloren zu sein. Können Sie mir bitte sagen, wo ich bin?“

The girl startled and turned around, her eyes wide behind her chunky glasses. “I’m sorry?” She blurted, obviously surprised by my appearance.

“My apologies.” I switched languages and shocked myself at how _posh_ I sounded.

What the hell?

I had done my post-grad year in America; my master’s degree in software engineering was done in New York. The only English I could speak was German-accented-American. Where was this posh English accent coming from?

I coughed and cleared my throat. “I seem to be rather lost; I was wondering if you could tell me where I am and point me to the nearest town.” My voice was the kind I’d only ever heard on television, the crisp English accent sounding very pleasant but incredibly foreign to my ears.

The kid blinked and took in my appearance; I was clearly not geared for a camping trip with my expensive loafers and satin shirt. Her mother had walked over by now and eyed me somewhat suspiciously. I tried for a smile and greeted her as well.

“Hello ma’am, I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I seem to be very lost. May I ask where we are?”

The woman eyed me a moment longer, obviously coming to erroneous conclusions. “We’re in the southern part of Haldon Forest. The camping grounds are about twenty minutes’ walk up that path.” She pointed out a dirt path that led through another copse of trees.

I nodded, having no clue where Haldon Forest was, but not wanting to arouse suspicions by asking. “Thank you very much.” I started to make my way over when she spoke again.

“Do you need a phone to call someone?” She asked, looking a bit concerned.

I shook my head. “That’s alright, I’m on a school trip.” I invented. “We’re not supposed to meet for another hour, so I’m in no rush. Thank you, though.” I would have departed had my stomach not chosen to inform me of our starving state with an enormous rumble. 

I couldn’t help my blush as the older girl laughed and her mother grinned.

“Here.” The blonde knelt down and tossed a granola bar at me, which I caught tried desperately not to drool over.

I laughed and smiled at the two once again. “Thanks again! I really appreciate it.” I more than appreciated it, I could have kissed her and wept tears of happiness if that wouldn’t have been completely weird and probably gotten me arrested.

The two waved me off, and I went on my way, tearing the wrapper and stuffing it into my mouth. I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I chewed as slowly as I could to savour both the taste and the wonder that was food. The bar was gone all too soon, and my stomach grumbled its frustration again. I sped up, beyond pleased that the camping ground was in sight, as well as a chance for some real information.

I was temporarily waylaid in my search for an information centre by a public bathroom that I dashed for, the thought of toilet paper, running water and tissues incredibly appealing. Peeing in the wilderness was all well and fine, but there’s a reason why wizards don’t scourgify their ass after a dump. 

I swear that I damn near scourgified the skin off my bum with how sore it was after I tried it once. I vowed to never do it again, as well as never try the cleaning spell on the rest of me. So while my clothes may still be in good shape, I myself was in desperate need of a shower. I’d dampened my shirt and wiped myself down with it, then cleaned the cloth, but it just wasn’t the same.

Emerging from the bathrooms fifteen minutes later, I was feeling much better about life now that I’d jumped into a shower and scrubbed my clothes and body. I didn’t have a towel, but I had a wand, so I resurfaced clean and dry, and damn near scared the life out of myself when I looked into a mirror and a stranger looked back at me.

A young boy with short black hair and piercing grey eyes stared out of the mirror, his face handsome even when completely gob-smacked. I lifted a hand and traced the bridge of my narrow nose, and the arches of my aristocratic cheekbones. Surreal. It really shoved home the fact that I was living in another person’s body. I shivered and turned away from the mirror, resolutely pushing that thought down.

The information centre contained several parents and their kids; it seemed like this place was a popular one for family camping. I slipped through them and aimed directly for the map, only to gape at it, stunned.

Exeter? As in Exeter, England?

What the bleeding hell was I doing here?

I took a copy of the map and asked the assistant for directions to a train station. It involved a bus first, but I thought for a moment and realised I knew the confundus charm, so that was my fare sorted.

And wow, my morals were already slipping, having magic made crime so easy. But I was still desperate, and still completely unsure of what was going on, so I needed to make my way to London. If this was the Harry Potter world, which I was inclined to believe it was seeing as the magic seemed to match up, then I needed information – hence Diagon Alley. I had no clue where the Leaky Cauldron was, but I would find it somehow. I needed to.

I caught the bus into Exeter, confounding the driver and settling into a seat. My stomach cramped again, and I promised it some food as soon I could. Half an hour later, and I hopped off at the stop the assistant told me of, and the beautiful gold arches of McDonald’s caught my eyes across the road.

I confounded the cashier out of sight of the cameras and passed her a piece of paper that she thought was money, and then I settled in with the huge burger I’d promised myself, damn near crying I was so happy. Moved to tears by a greasy burger, how my standards have dropped.

Death in Berlin via fat cat and brick combination (no one would know, ever), awakening outside of Exeter as a stranded teen wizard, magical incident involving my bum that will never be spoken of again, and now onto stealing from McDonalds. My life had gotten incredibly strange in the past few days. I still wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t a coma-dream or something.

I shrugged that thought off as useless and patted my stuffed belly in satisfaction. Ten minutes later, I left McDonalds before I could nod off, incredibly tired now that I had a full stomach.

It was only after I boarded the train to London, did I allow myself to drift off into slumber, anticipation simmering low in my gut as the train hurtled through the countryside, taking me closer to the unknown world that awaited.

* * *

Name: Unknown

Location: Exeter, England

Status: Stuck in the body of a teenage wizard, incredibly satisfied after eating enormous, greasy burger.

Plan of action: Arrive in London and find Diagon Alley

Notable accomplishments: Successfully robbed McDonalds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so admittedly I started this because I was tired of all the OC's dying from car crashes; you'd think that cars were the most dangerous things to grace the Earth purely from just reading all the stories.


	2. The Wicked Witch of the West is my Mother!?

I must be an idiot or something, because I had somehow managed to make my way through Exeter train station and onto a train without noticing I had been flung decades into the past. I stood in Paddington station in London, staring at the innocent numbers in the corner of a newspaper that told me the year was 1991. April 10th, 1991. The fashion and lack of people with their noses stuck to their phones told me that this was no hoax, and to suck it up and face reality.

“Oi, you read it, you pay for it.” The stand owner scowled at me, shaking me from my daze. I put the paper back and mumbled an apology, drifting away and following the crowd.

1991, that was the year Harry went to Hogwarts, right? I don’t think this was a coincidence.

I made my way onto another train, this one to King’s Cross, and boarded promptly. It was getting later in the day by now, and I was about ready to crash despite having caught a nap on the way to London. Wandering in the forest starving for three days had really taken a lot of energy.

King’s cross was bustling as I made my way through the crowds, and while I was horribly tempted to try getting through the barrier on platform nine and ten, I instead tracked down a police officer and got directions to a hostel. Hopefully they wouldn’t ask why a kid was looking to stay without a parent – but of course I had a solution if they did. I was getting pretty good at casting ‘confundo’s discreetly, which probably said a lot of terrible things about me. Scratch that, it definitely said a lot of terrible things.

The next morning, I was up early and refreshed, ready to track down The Leaky Cauldron.

...

Which did not happen.

My point me charm failed, in both German and English, and I wandered about the whole day, sweeping the blocks for a run-down pub, but no dice. Was it warded against divining charms or something? Bloody hell, I was sure that it was nearby King’s Cross – didn’t Harry and the Weasleys drive there from the pub in their third year?

It was almost a week after I woke up in that clearing – three days having been spent escaping the forest, another three wandering London’s streets, that I realised I was being stupid; I used the point me charm again, this time to the nearest wizard who I tracked down to a bench just outside the station. He was so blatantly wizardly – he looked pretty old, and was wearing robes and a ridiculous hat, not even trying to look muggle. At least, I really hoped he was a real wizard, if he was just a regular dude playing dress up, this would be extremely humiliating.

Summoning my courage, I approached the man who was frowning rather severely.

“Excuse me? Can you help me?”

The man barely even glanced me. “No.” His tone was short, and he went back to staring at the crowds.

I had traded in my fancy clothes for something less likely to get me mugged, and was now wearing jeans and a jumper, as well as a blatantly muggle hat – just in case someone was looking for me and recognised my face.

“I’m looking for Diagon Alley.” I said, nervousness bubbling in my stomach.

The man looked at me again with a distinct sneer. “I don’t help mudbloods.”

Alien anger lit my veins at the dismissal and slur, mixing with my own joy at finding an actual wizard. My lips twisted without my input and I all but spat “I’m not a mudblood” with such contempt and vitriol that there was no doubt as to my hatred for them.

Merlin, this was real; this man was definitely a wizard, I was probably a snobby pureblood, and this was definitely the Harry Potter world.

“I’m from Germany. If you could point me in the direction, I shan’t bother you further.”

I could see the man re-evaluate me, but he still looked very sceptical.

“ _A likely story._ ” He said.

“ _A true story. I’m from Berlin_.” I replied in my native tongue, annoyed at his attitude. Man, the bigotry here was real and intense, wasn’t it?

He sniffed. “ _Six streets down, right, three streets down. From King’s Cross main exit._ ”

“ _Danke_.”

I left him swiftly, not wanting to prolong conversation with the grumpy old bigot. I retraced my steps to the station, and then followed his instructions, and finally laid eyes upon the grubby pub. It was, just as had been described, a run-down old building that everyone seemed to walk straight past without even glancing at. Excitement pushed away the leftover irritation and I pressed the door open.

Laughter and noise filled my ears as soon as I stepped inside, the usual buzz of a restaurant occupying the room. It was an old-fashioned place, as expected, with high windows and wooden furniture. Unlit candles lined the walls and iron chandelier, and there were numerous moving portraits covering the dirty white stone. The smell of pub food tickled my nose, and I saw a dish cloth polishing one of the windows by itself, while a witch floated a tray of food over to a table.

This was really it. The entrance to the Wizarding World.

I made my way slowly across the room, eyes keen and taking everything in, then waited by the counter, listening to the conversations. They were all so varied and incredibly surreal; people emphatically arguing about quidditch, complaining over potion ingredients’ prices, talking of Hogwarts. Like it was normal – this _was_ their normal.

“What are you having, kid?” A man who was hunched with age and completely bald greeted me.

I smiled at the man – presumably Tom the bartender. “If you could guide me to the entrance of Diagon Alley? I’m visiting family in England, but they’ve neglected to tell me how to get to there from here.”

“Of course.” The man smiled kindly at me. “Just to my right and through the backroom – oh. It looks like Algernon is heading there now. Why don’t you follow him.” He motioned towards a positively ancient looking man who was leaving the room at the pace of a snail, and I nodded my thanks and swiftly followed.

Passing by one of the empty tables, I picked up the newspaper sitting there on a whim, tucking it beneath my arm. I stepped through a somewhat grimy door to see the wizard in front of me tapping at bricks, before the wall rippled and stone parted before him.

Seeing Diagon alley in real life was incredible. There were just not enough words to describe how magical it was.

People in robes bustled to and fro, entering shops that burst with displays of the impossible. People wearing cloaks and robes swept up and down the cobbled road, their clothing flapping as they moved. The call of various animals could be faintly heard, as well as several young adults laughing around what appeared to be an animated firework that was dancing through the sky.

“Merlin’s pants.” I startled myself with the words, the original owner’s instincts slipping through.

I realised that I had been staring and hurried through the bricks before they could close. I wandered slowly up the alley, taking in all the sights and impossible feats, before I made my way past Quality Quidditch Supplies and realised I had no clue where I was going. Passing by several young kids below the age eleven gawking at a Nimbus 2000, I found a corner to stand in out of the rush of the crowds and took my pilfered paper out from under my armpit.

The front page made my heart stutter and skip a beat.

‘ **Harry Potter to Attend Hogwarts this September!** ’ the headline screamed at me, and below it was a picture of a small boy with glasses smiling and waving politely next to a chubbier boy who looked terribly unnerved at having his picture taken. Behind the two of them, was an elderly, severe looking woman wearing what appeared to be a massive bird on her head. She looked like she definitely wasn’t someone to mess with. Suspicion as to who these people were crystallised in my mind and solidified as I scanned the article.

‘ _raised by the Longbottoms after the tragic deaths of his parents’ – ‘foster-brother Neville Longbottom’ – ‘godmother Alice Longbottom, incapacitated and in St. Mungos’_

Harry Potter had been raised by Augusta Longbottom in the Wizarding World!

What did this mean? Was this some alternate world that I’d ended up in? Did any of my knowledge actually mean anything? What the bloody hell was going on?

I flipped the page to what looked like a political section – Fudge was minister, but I didn’t recognise any of the other the names mentioned in what looked to be a report on the latest bill being pushed through the Wizengamot. The third page however, caught my interest.

‘ **Still no Answers for Lestrange Manor Incident!** ’

I furrowed my brows as I read through the article. Apparently the Lestrange home had exploded in some sort magical incident; there was ‘Dark Magick’ – as opposed to dark magic? – residue all over the place, and the whole house had been levelled to dust. No bodies could be found.

Perhaps that was why there were no other Lestranges mentioned in the books apart from the ones in Azkaban; they had all died in the –

I inhaled my tongue and choked on it as I read a small, throwaway sentence at the end of the article:

‘ _Obliviators are working over-time in Exeter to cover up signs of the magical explosion.’_

“Exeter!” I exclaimed aloud.

This was no coincidence; This kid was a Lestrange, it all fit. Why I was dressed so richly, my inexplicable hatred for being called a mudblood, my aristocratic looks – common among inbred nobles, I presumed. Even the fact my wand had no trace on it. The explosion was apparently enormous and had brought the wards down in a blatantly magical display of a shimmering dome of light.

Something had gone wrong; the kid had escaped or avoided the explosion, and I had awoken in his body. Maybe the Lestranges – his relatives – had saved him. Whatever happened that night at the manor held the answers I was looking for. The aurors apparently had no clue, according to the newspaper, and even if they did, I had no way of finding out from them.

The only chance I had of figuring out what happened was if I could somehow get the memories of this body. I had his instincts for sure, and I know some knowledge remained behind. There must be a way of recovering or viewing his memories.

I folded the paper up and left in on a bench, feeling much better about myself now that I had a plan, and made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts just across the way. The bell dinged gently as I opened the door, and I was greeted by what appeared to be a very ordinary bookstore, if it weren’t for some of the unusual book coverings and several towering stacks that had to be staying upright only due to magic. There adults browsing the tall shelves of books, one accompanied by a child of perhaps eight who looked much put-upon and terribly bored.

I slipped through and made my way through the aisles, breathing in the scent of paper and scholarship. It took a good fifteen minutes of browsing and being distracted by various titles – _wards, wands and witches; the dark side of the moon – lunar magic; magicks of the deep_ – before I came upon the section I was looking for in the second floor of the store. I rummaged through the history books before I chanced upon a promising book.

_Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_

Excellent. I heaved the book down (I had to stand on my tip-toes, stupid kid-body) and flipped the pages until I reached the Lestrange section.

A sprawling knot of a family tree greeted my eyes, like vines tangling across one another on the page, signifying just how many distant cousin marriages there had been. Lovely. The French names the Lestranges had intermarried with became less common as it approached the 20th century, and as the time went on, many branches disappeared or were whittled down until only one branch was left.

I searched desperately for any other living Lestrange couple, a sinking sensation in my gut and a voice in the back of my head screaming. But the branches had died or moved to other countries, and there was only one Lestrange family living in Britain. I traced the names Bartholomew Lestrange and Lucinda Lestrange née Fawley – two names mentioned in the Prophet – down to their sons Rabastan and Rodolphus, and his wife Bellatrix Lestrange née Black.

No way. You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.

There was no mention of a child born to the two of them, but it was logically, horrifyingly the only option left. I was obviously not attending a magic school since I had been home during April instead of at Hogwarts, so was apparently home-schooled. There were numerous reasons why I – the kid – wouldn’t have been sent to Hogwarts, only the first being my mass-murdering parents. I would have been born during the rise of Voldemort with my parents’ as his ardent supporters; the family had obviously kept my existence a secret.

Had Rodolphus and Bellatrix had a child in canon? Did he die in the explosion too? Or was his existence due to the alternate world I happened to be in?

I was jolted from my spinning thoughts by the book snapping closed and leaping from my hands and back onto the shelf. The sudden and unexpected act nearly made me scream, but I kept it together and just jumped about a foot in the air instead. I closed my eyes and pressed a hand to my racing heart, trying to get my mind in order.

So.

Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were probably this body’s parents. Something happened six days ago which levelled the Lestrange Manor near Exeter in which the kid somehow escaped, my soul arrived and took over, and all that was left was ‘Dark Magick’ residue. How terribly ominous. I opened my eyes and breathed deeply before releasing it, surveying the book that had jumped from my grip. What even was that? A security measure? To stop people from treating this place as a library?

Hmm… now there’s an idea.

Turning on my heel, I made my way back down the stairs and to the counter. A young woman I judged to be in her mid-twenties sat with her nose in what appeared to be an incredibly gossipy copy of the Witch Weekly; literally - I could faintly hear tiny voices of the images talking.

“Excuse me?”

She lowered it, allowing me to see her mousy brown hair and striking eye makeup. “Yeah?”

I laced a bit of a German accent through my words. “Do you know where I can access Britain’s public library?” I prayed that there was an actual thing. To my great relief, the woman nodded.

“British Public Library, wizarding section.”

The British library had a magical section? Huh, who knew.

“Thanks.” Exiting swiftly, I stepped out of the shop, leaving behind the smell of old parchment and musty books.

Hopefully I could find out about any magical treatment for recovering memories there. But first… I lifted my head from the Prophet and spied tall white marble columns standing proudly at the end of the alley.

Gringotts.

* * *

Name: Something Lestrange 

Location: London, England

Status: Stuck in the body of a teenage wizard, now related to crazy people

Plan of action: Get grubby hands on some gold (and stop stealing)

Notable accomplishments: Petty thief


	3. Goblins, Greed and Gold

Goblins.

Here I was, standing in line waiting to speak to a goblin. 

I bit down an inappropriate giggle at the sheer unbelievability that was now my life, or death – I still wasn’t sure – and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. I was beyond nervous, what if they didn’t accept who I was? I didn’t have a key, but I remember that they had accepted Bellatrix’s wand (plus an imperio) as identification when the trio broke in. Sirius Black had also somehow managed to access his vault to buy Harry a Firebolt when he was a criminal, so I figured there was some way for me to access them without a key.

Hopefully.

I really didn’t want to get arrested.

A dumpty witch moved away and one of the tellers became available. I walked over to the ridiculously high counter – which was a not-very-subtle statement by the goblins – and over to the banker. My heartbeat picked up, drumming in my ears, as I crossed the beautifully decorated floor and I swallowed a mouthful of saliva that had appeared.

“I would like to access my vault.” I spoke quietly but firmly when I arrived, tugging my hat lower to hide my features.

The goblin wore glasses over his gnarled face and his small hands and long fingernails gripped his quill as he scratched out something onto parchment before him.

“Key?” He asked, setting his quill down to look upon me. It was a long way down to look – I apparently hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet, and the goblins had created their desks high enough to sneer upon even the tall witches and wizards that they served.

“I have my wand as identification.” I said, desperately hoping it would work.

The goblin eyed me with a narrow gaze, his mouth twisting in an expression I couldn’t quite place.

“And which vault do you want to access?” His tone was polite, but there was a definite edge to it that I didn’t understand. 

“Lestrange.” I told him, heart drumming in my ears.

This time the goblin’s face was easily interpreted as he shot me a derisive sneer. “Another attempt at the Lestrange vaults.” He grinned maliciously, damn near causing a little pee to escape. Holy shit, these guys may be small, but they sure know how to give murder-smiles. “Let’s see your wand then, little wizard.”

Right. I tried not to gulp as I handed him my most precious possession and held my breath.

I really hope I hadn’t just signed up for a beheading – I’d seen the guards and their axes standing in the corners!

The goblin held it in his hands and turned it over sniffing it with his incredibly long and pointy nose. “Aspen, ten and three quarters inches.” His quill moved with his words and he tapped my wand against something on his desk. “Dragon heartstring.” He then turned it around and looked at the base of the handle. “Gregorovitch.”

I was having Movie-Ollivander flashbacks as the goblin glanced at his scroll, the quill having set itself down. The goblin’s whiskery eyebrows rose above his thin, gold-rimmed frames and he turned to look speculatively at me. “Registered to Mr. Antares Lestrange.”

Oh, thank Merlin. Well, even if I had no gold to my new name, this was a very informative trip.

The goblin looked me over again – my jeans and baseball cap no doubt extremely departed from the image the real Antares would have presented – but nodded. He looked back down at his scroll, eyes flicking swiftly from side to side.

“Due to the incarceration of your parents –” a charming reminder as to who they were – “and the recent deaths of your grandparents” – he flicked a questioning look at me, which I nodded in response to despite not knowing for sure what had happened to them – “you are able to access the British Lestrange vault. Should you desire access to the main family vault, you will have to visit our Paris branch when you are of age.”

Relief that I tried not to show poured through me and I nodded to the goblin, taking back my wand.

“Thank you.” Evidentially the goblins gave no shits about what had happened to my grandparents, or that I was a minor with no guardian. Excellent.

“Vograd!” A call brought over another waist-sized creature and the teller nodded his head in that direction.

I biddably followed my guide and we made our way past the bankers and through the large archway at the end of the long hall. Cool air and a musty breeze greeted me first, and when I stepped through the entrance, I was met by what appeared to be a boarding zone, very reminiscent of a theme park. As goblin and wizard stepped up to the tracks, a cart rumbled into sight out of a darkened tunnel to our left. Vograd got into the front of the cart – it was basically a mining cart modified to like a roller coaster, but there were no straps – and I entered behind him, clutching at the railing. 

As soon as I had sat down, we jolted forwards and rapidly picked up speed, disappearing into another tunnel in front of us. It was completely, utterly black, and I was squinting through the darkness trying to see anything, when my stomach suddenly flew up into my throat as we _dropped._

I let loose a very unmanly squeak as the tracks took us on a steep dive and we emerged from the tunnel into what appeared to be the largest roller coaster ever built. The iron tracks glinted silver in the dancing flames of the torchlight that covered the cavern walls, and we hurtled forward on them, still gaining speed. We soon passed vault door after vault door, the numbers blurry and indistinct when I craned my head and tried to read them.

The cart took us down, down so far below London that it got extremely chilly and I briefly mourned the fact I didn’t have a thicker jumper on, the steady rumble of the wheels continuing for long minutes. I was just debating whether I should risk casting a warming charm in the moving cart when we sped around a corner and a waterfall came into view. The blood in my veins felt like it was replaced with ice and the hairs on my body stood straight up as I saw and heard the rushing enchanted liquid. 

Thief’s Downfall.

Shit, how could I have forgotten!? It’s supposed to wash away all enchantments – was my body/soul/spirit relocation an enchantment? What if I went through it and I was expelled from Antares’ body? I didn’t want that! Then I would really be dead instead of dimensionally displaced.

What if I set off all the alarms and Vograd jumped back and tried to behead me? I’ve already been killed by a cat, please don’t add enraged goblin to the list.

Just as I was really working myself into a tizzy, the tracks curved in closer to the rocky cliff the water was pouring off of and we sped straight under it, the warm liquid that drenched me an even worse shock since I had expected it to be freezing. We passed out the other side unchanged and the goblin didn’t even turn back to look at me as I spluttered and spat water – or whatever liquid Thief’s Downfall was – out of my mouth. My clothes were absolutely sodden now, and the wind was no longer just chilly but positively icy and biting as we delved even further down into the Earth’s crust. 

It was another few increasingly uncomfortable minutes in which I was getting even more cold and a bit motion sick when we finally started slowing down. We approached a large enclosure, and I could see a great, pale lumbering beast shifting from between enormous stone pillars, my heart sticking in my throat at the glimpse of what I knew would be a dragon.

Our cart squeaked to a halt and I debarked with great relief – which took two tries since my legs almost gave out on the first time – whipping my aspen wand out and muttering charms that had me blessedly warm and dry. I tucked it back up my left sleeve on instinct – sleeves were apparently where purebloods are taught to keep them – and stuck close to the goblin as he led me to a crate containing those noise makers – clankers I think.

I grabbed one for myself as Vograd started ringing his and we made our noisy but swift way past the cringing, milky-eyed dragon. The sight of such a magnificent, impossible, _magical_ beast of legend cowering before us caused my heart to clench, but I did nothing except stare utterly transfixed and follow my guide. We alighted up a set of stairs that looked in desperate need of repair and one long nail – a goblin feature for casting magic? – was run straight down an invisible line on the vault door. I inadvertently held my breath as the heavy door was unlocked and it swung open on soundless hinges to reveal the enormous treasure cache hidden behind it.

I admit, when my eyes fell on the pile of gold coins sitting in the centre, surrounded by bejewelled artefacts, elaborate candelabra and every type of jewellery you could ever imagine, I had a moment of pure greed.

This – all of this was mine.

Just this morning I was stealing breakfast from muggles, and now I was the heir to an enormous fortune. A week ago, I _was_ one of those magic-less muggles eking out a living, and now I was a wizard who would never need to work – ever.

I emerged from my daze and pushed the chanting voice – _my precious, my precious –_ to the back of my mind to see Vograd having his own Golem moment as he covetously eyed the Lestrange family fortune. And there was another vault in Paris, Merlin’s beard.

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. “Thank you Vograd.” I tipped my baseball cap to him and lit my wand tip, feeling a moment of amusement as I imagined this was the first time anyone wearing muggle clothing had entered the vault. My new Lestranges ancestors would be rolling in their graves. I walked in with a smirk on my face and started taking a closer look, which revealed I had absolutely no clue what any of these objects were. Nor did I dare touch them in case they were cursed; this _was_ the Lestrange vault, and seeing as it contained a piece of Lord Voldemort’s soul, who knows what else could be here? Speaking of Voldemort’s soul, I had spotted about twenty small golden goblets already, on just the right side of the room, so looking for his horcrux right now would be a hopeless endeavour. Besides, if it was here, it could stay for some time yet until I figured out what to do with it. 

I quickly finished my perusal and found what looked to be a plain pouch – it was only made of velvet and embroidered with the Lestrange crest; there were thankfully no jewels – and hesitantly picked it up. When I didn’t die a horrible death, I shovelled handfuls of coins into it, unsure of how much I would need. Better safe than sorry, so I stuffed in more and more until I realised the pouch - only the size of small clutch purse – wasn’t filling up and figured it must be bigger on the inside. I managed to stick my hand in straight down to my elbow when my palm met cold metal, and I withdrew it, pleased. The inside wasn’t that big, I would estimate it to be about the size of a small backpack, but a backpack of gold was sure to be a hell of a lot.

I had a moment in which I grinned dopily at my new money pouch before I realised that I had nowhere to put it. Scanning my body, I resigned myself to the discomfort and shoved it under the waistband of my jeans before resettling my jumper to cover the lump. I grabbed another handful of galleons and stuffed them into my pockets for easy access, then turning and leaving the rest of treasures behind.

Vograd was waiting for me, looking immensely bored, and he closed the door to the sound of numerous locks clicking shut. We retraced our steps back past the dragon, which we left behind with only a lingering glance from myself, both getting back on the cart and started trundling the way we came. The ride up was much more enjoyable this time now that I knew I wasn’t about to be arrested or exorcised via enchanted water, and I sat back enjoying the heat of my warming charm. We arrived back to a different boarding zone from which we left from but still connected to the main hall.

As I alighted from the cart and stretched, I remembered to ask: “Can I exchange galleons for pounds here?”

That earned me – and my outfit – a glance as Vograd nodded. “You can.” He left me there without any further ado but luckily there was a desk free, so I nipped over before someone else came in. My galleons were exchanged without issue, although I was incredibly shocked at how much I got for them.

“Excuse me?” I blinked, thinking I had misheard. 

“Two hundred and two pounds per galleon.” The goblin – I think he was a he, I honestly couldn’t tell since his voice was incredibly gender-neutral – repeated in a bored tone. 

My eyebrows furrowed. I wasn’t sure about the price in 91, but: “Isn’t that the standard muggle price for gold per ounce?”

The goblin looked at me like I was an idiot. “Of course. If it wasn’t, don’t you think people would just be selling their gold in the muggle world?”

Right. Well there went that scheme.

I thanked the goblin for the notes and stuffed them into my other pocket, resolving to get a wallet now that I actually had money. 

Walking out of Gringotts, I felt like a whole new man. Having cash really made all the difference; the whole world was my oyster, and I was determined to explore it. I practically skipped down the steps and onto the cobbled stone of the alley. 

My first stop was Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, not because I was particularly interested in potions ingredients, but because it was the nearest store, which proved to be an enormous mistake as I nearly barfed as soon as I set foot inside. The smell was absolutely disgusting, and so thick that I could practically _taste_ it; it was like old cabbage that had been digested and shat out by a horse. I caught sight of a sign saying, ‘rat spleen – 1 knut an ounce,’ and there were rows of extremely suspicious looking jars with what I swear were eyeballs that had me spinning on my heel and walking straight back out. I sucked down a lungful of fresh air and vowed that I would learn the bubblehead charm or some sort of nose-nullifying spell before I ever set foot in an apothecary again.

Obscurus Books was amazing, and I spent a good hour in there just looking at the book titles – I think learned more about magic in that one hour than I did reading and watching the entire Harry Potter series. There were so many topics that I had never heard of before, and I had to physically restrain myself from buying any. My first priority was to research what had happened to me; if the public library didn’t have anything useful, I would come back and search the Alley properly. Each new store was like an entire world being opened to me, and I revelled in the infinite, _glorious_ wonder that was magic. 

I had explored Eyelops Owl Emporium where I swear I spotted Hedwig sitting there, easy as you please on a bird stand. It was a snowy owl that I was pretty sure was her, but then again, it could’ve just been a random snowy owl; I’m sure Harry didn’t own the only one. If the sheer variety of owls, bats and various post-carrying creatures in the Emporium was stunning, then the beasts in Magical Menagerie absolutely boggled the mind. In the front window exhibit alone, there were absolutely massive purple toads that seemed to flash orange whenever they hopped; why anyone would want an enormous colour-changing toad as a pet was beyond me, but I’m sure there was some sucker out there who would buy one. 

I wandered about the tanks and cages filled with all sorts of exotic and unimaginable creatures, absolutely certain that this must be real; it was simply too crazy for me to make up. I passed a crab sitting in its tank on fire while underwater, numerous _adorable_ sentient balls of fluff – puffskeins – and what appeared to be cannibalistic snails that quickly caused me to turn away. Shamelessly gaping like the muggle I used to be, I could hear others around me mocking my gormless behaviour.

“Look at this idiot – he looks even more stupid than some of the ignorant apes that come gawking.”

“No, he doesn’t, you’re being too harsh; I wouldn’t say he looks any worse than the previous one, they all look about the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re nearly blind, you moron." The first voice scoffed. "They probably look like disfigured blobs to you and your failed eyes.”

“Well _excuse me_ for not having such amazing eyes like you, you big – “

I turned around to give the gossiping old biddies a piece of my mind and to tell them to mind their own business, but I was greeted by nothing but more tanks. Casting my eyes from side to side I tried to find who was insulting me – admittedly by using the truth – and frowned when I figured the two were hiding behind the tanks; as if just because I couldn’t see them meant I didn’t hear them. 

But there was no one there. No one behind the tanks, no one nearby but a mother and her child looking at the magical fish one aisle away.

Like a puppet on strings, my wide-eyed, disbelieving gaze was pulled in the direction of a glass box from which the voices came, and the residents inside it. I gaped, utterly transfixed, in horrified fascination.

“Hmm. You know, I think you’re right; this one definitely looks much more brainless than the previous ones.” The pale-yellow snake basking on a rock beneath a charmed heater said to the purple-striped one lounging on a branch.

The _snake_. SAID. 

Oh my god, Merlin’s might, Rodolphus – it hasn’t even been a whole day and I’ve never met you, but I miss you being my father already. 

* * *

Name: Antares no-longer-Lestrange Black

Location: London, England

Status: Stuck in the body of a teenage wizard, related to even crazier people

Plan of action: To the library!

Notable accomplishments: Accidentally conned the goblins and robbed the Lestranges – it was really Bellatrix’s fault


End file.
